


A Q By Any Other Name

by Lecavayay



Series: Double-Oh [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: (but like not really hate), AU-typical violence, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Hate to Love, M/M, Mention of PTSD symptoms, Slow Burn, Tampa Bay Lightning, Undercover Missions, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-16 13:09:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20820140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lecavayay/pseuds/Lecavayay
Summary: “Is this how you get all your agents out of trouble, Q?”“You didn’t give me much of a choice, 007.”





	A Q By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sugarchev](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sugarchev/gifts).

> I'm so sorry I'm incapable of writing anything short. To be fair, this is mostly verbaeghe's fault.
> 
> No italics were harmed in the writing of this fic (but I apologize for the ridiculous number of them anyway). 
> 
> Please don't point out how ugly my British is. I did my very best.

**ONE**

It’s a particularly unremarkable London day – overcast and miserable, rain already dotting the windowpane. It’s a Tuesday, Tony notes when he checks his phone, and there’s never anything interesting about Tuesdays.

He skips breakfast in lieu of tea and picks a soft, cable-knit sweater to pull over his wrinkled button-up shirt. He leaves the collar undone and doesn’t bother dragging a brush through his hair. He shoves a toque over his wild curls instead and gives one quick look in the mirror to make sure he doesn’t have toothpaste anywhere. Positively radiant.

The rain is frigid, just barely this side of rain at all at this time of year. Some of the droplets stick to his lenses and try to freeze there. The November chill sinks all the way to his bones by the time he reaches the train station, the dampness seeping into his lungs.

Bloody miserable.

The train is on schedule, at least, and the car is quiet as they sprint toward downtown. Tony finishes his paper by the time his stop comes around and he pops the collar of his raincoat before exiting back into the drizzle with a small crowd.

The office is only a few blocks away and no one has ever called Tony a slow walker. Doubly-so on a day like today. A day made for polite speed walking with your head down to avoid eye contact at all costs.

“M has been asking for you.”

Tony is barely through the gates of MI6 before Moneypenny is on him, looking too pleased for the weather outside. Tony flattens his collar and shakes the rain from his hair and toque, pointedly not returning the smile he’s greeted with. “Lead the way, then.”

Moneypenny jumps to it with the usual overconfident swing of his hips and his very out of dress code tattoos on display. Tony takes a small pleasure in towering over him in the lift.

“You know,” Moneypenny says, hitting the button for the administrative floor. “I could snap you in half, if I wanted to.”

Tony huffs. “One of these days, I would so love for you to try.”

The lift arrives before Moneypenny can form a retort. Tony knows the way to M’s office and doesn’t wait for him to follow, knocking on the plain wooden door without hesitation.

“Ah yes, Q. Please, come in. Sit.” M looks ghastly against the dreary London skyline behind him, eyes sunken and dark from the cloudy shadows.

Tony sits.

“I have a new agent for you. A recent graduate of the academy. Top of his class.”

Tony takes the file he’s offered.

“He’s a bit younger than we usually go for but he’s absolutely exquisite across the board. Outstanding instincts in the field--.”

“He hasn’t been in the field,” Tony interrupts.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do. And, respectfully, that’s not the field. The academy is a carefully controlled simulation. All this file shows is that he can easily outwit the teachers’ crafted scenarios.”

“His scores are some of the best we’ve ever seen. He’s been in the program since he was seventeen. He’s ready.”

Tony closes the file. “I’m not interested in babysitting.”

M’s lips curl into a grin. “I wasn’t asking. Besides, a challenge might be good for you.”

“Sir, if I may--.”

“Q.”

Tony pushes on anyway. “He’s only just eligible to become an agent! Why not give him a few more years, a few more mistakes. There are plenty of capable recruits in the system. Use one of them.”

M pinches his nose. “Do you recall how you got to where you are?” Or are you so nearsighted you’ve forgotten just what a risk you were for Q-branch? I took a chance on you. I trusted you despite the fact you were not tested in the field. Despite the fact you would be the youngest head of Q-branch in a hundred years.”

Tony grits his teeth. He’s lost this one.

“This assignment is not a choice. 007 is in your hands.”

“007? Boyle is being replaced?”

“It’s for the best. After his last mission.”

Tony tosses the file back on M’s desk, a sudden drip of melancholy slipping into his stomach. “Is that all?” he asks, voice painfully neutral.

“Set up a meeting with him as soon as possible. I’d like to get him equipped quickly.”

Tony nods and leaves without being dismissed.

The next afternoon, Tony picks a quiet corner in the stands of a public ice rink and waits. He’s pleased he remembered his gloves for the occasion as it’s nearly cold enough to see his breath and the tip of his nose surely went red immediately.

At least it isn’t raining today.

He doesn’t look at the man who settles next to him, but he doesn’t need to.

“Did you play?” the man asks, conversational.

“Do I look the shape to play ice hockey?” he snips.

Tony can feel his agent’s eyes on him, sizing him up. “Perhaps in another life.”

“How unlucky it is we only have one of those.”

He smiles. “Unlucky indeed.”

Tony sighs. Best to get this over with. “007,” he says, feels the agent sit up a little straighter. “I’m your Quartermaster.”

“No you’re not. You’re barely older than me!”

“I assure you my age is not at all correlated to my skill.”

“Am I your _first_ agent?” 007 asks, positively aghast.

Tony sets his jaw. “Forgive me for not making this abundantly clear. I have been running agents longer than you have been one.”

“That isn’t saying much, to be fair.”

Tony’s going to kill him. He’s going to use the MI6 issued gun in the briefcase under his seat and kill him. In front of everyone at this ice rink. “I thought they taught you how to work with a Quartermaster in Agent School or were you not paying attention that day?”

“I’m polite to people who deserve it.”

“Your only saving grace is the fact that we’re in public and there’s nothing I hate more than causing a scene."

“Or what? You’d put me in my place?”

Tony considers how satisfying that would be, pushes his glasses up his nose. He fixes the agent with his deadliest stare. “If you’d like.”

He sizes Tony up, dark eyes scanning over his face, flicking down to his hands folded steady in his lap. “You’re not armed.”

“I’ll use the gun I brought for you.”

The agent laughs and the corners of his eyes crinkle. “I thought they fingerprinted those things.”

“You happen to be sitting next to one of the only people who knows how to override that delightful piece of technology.”

“Going to tell me you’re a crack shot as well?”

“Don’t need to be very good with you sitting this close.” Tony leans over to pick up the case and shoves it into the agent’s lap. “As much fun as this conversation is, we do have a timeline.”

007 opens the case to display the gun and a small earpiece. “No dagger shoes? I was really looking forward to getting a pair.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Thank you.” He clicks the case closed, moves to stand.

“007,” Tony snaps, halting his movement. “I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you that chip on your shoulder is going to get you killed.”

The agent shrugs, stuffing the earpiece into his ear. “I like my odds.”

Tony’s attention is drawn by the piercing scream of a child, their parent rushing over to pick them up off the ice. He turns back to his agent to give him yet another piece of his mind, but the man is gone.

Typical.

**TWO**

It’s barely twenty-four hours before M hands down their first mission as a pair, the docket already on Q’s desk when he arrives wrapped up in the thickest scarf he owns.

It’s snowing today.

“Seems like a straightforward intel mission. In and out, they’ll never know I was there.”

Tony forcefully sets his tea on his desk. “How in the bloody hell did you get into my office, 007.”

The agent smiles at him, his feet propped up on the table with all of Tony’s in-progress weapons. A matching file in his lap. “I’m just that good.”

Tony leans back out of his door to shout. “Slater!”

“Oi, I’m not deaf,” the man belonging to the name says, appearing to Tony’s right with a tablet and a pastry. “Why’re you yelling?”

“Please tell me how someone got into my office without my letting him in.”

Slater looks over Tony’s shoulder, spots 007. “He said you’d okay’d it. That he was just looking for a place to sit and wait for ya to get in to brief him. It wasn’t any trouble to let him in with the backup code you gave m--.”

“Slater.” Tony breathes deeply. “The next time an agent is looking for a _chair_, I’d prefer if you directed him to the lounge.”

“Even if it’s _your _ag--.”

“And I’ll be changing the backup code as soon as 007 is out on mission.”

Slater takes a bite of his pastry. “Sure thing, boss.”

Tony shuts the door behind him, drawing down the privacy curtains. He turns his annoyance on his agent. “Please do not come into my branch and bribe my co-workers with pastries and your charm.”

“And why not?”

“This isn’t an agent hangout. It’s not a place for you to go nosing around in. There’s a reason the agent branch is separate from Q-branch.”

“I didn’t touch anything.”

“You went through all of my books and picked up at least half of those weapons,” Tony says, pressing his thumb to the fingerprint reader on the keyboard of his computer to wake it up. “Find anything interesting?”

007 drops his feet to the ground, sits up. “Nothing at all. Your taste in literature is appalling and none of these weapons are usable.”

Tony pulls up an MI6 satellite image of an abandoned building near the edge of a small town in Sweden. “You have the only weapon you need, 007. Now, the building you will be investigating has two entrances, one from the front and one at the rear. There are five exit paths,” he says as five red lines slice through the 3D blueprint that appears. “And one emergency exit from the roof.”

“Thrilling.”

“Intel shows men moving in and out of the building as recently as two days ago. The target could still be inside.”

“Here’s to hoping.”

Tony’s just about had it with this man. Boy. Boyman. “Have you killed anyone before?”

His agent keeps his face entirely still, not a twitch out of place. “Don’t worry, Q. They make sure we can pull the trigger.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

007 licks his bottom lip. “There aren’t exactly a line of volunteers to be shot between the eyes for practice.”

Tony had not quite expected an answer so bluntly honest. He takes it in stride. “Good.” He nods, curt. “Since, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, your license to kill has been revoked for this mission. M is insistent that the target be brought in alive.”

He stands, brushes the wrinkles out of his suit. “Might be difficult, seeing as no one has any idea who the target is. I’ve already told M, if someone shoots at me, I’ll be shooting right back.”

Tony is surprised that he finds that reasonable. “I’ll be in your ear the whole time, tracking your progress.”

“Ready to save my arse?” the agent asks, bright smile breaking out over his face.

“Only if absolutely necessary. You know how Quartermasters don’t like to get their hands dirty.”

“You said it, not me.”

The tension between them seems to fizzle for just a moment. “Good luck, 007.”

“As if I need it,” he tosses over his shoulder, smile still fully in place.

“_Absolutely_ insufferable,” Tony says to himself, shaking his head.

The agent doesn’t arrive on site until late that afternoon, the winter sun almost fully set. Tony has a small crowd gathered around his computer screens, all sets of eyes tracking the blinking red dot on the map.

“Big moment, hm?”

Tony frowns at the young employee to his left, clocks him as belonging to 008. The relaxed Scottish accent is unmistakable. “It’s a standard mission.”

“Yeah, but it’s your first, right? Always some nerves the first time.” Ingy’s playful smirk reaches all the way to his eyes.

Tony’s cheeks heat and silently laments his pale complexion. “This is not my first time running an agent.”

“Yeah,” he says, drawing out the word. “Never had an agent like 007 before, though. Bet he’ll wiggle outta that earpiece before long.”

Tony hacks into the security camera outside a shop at the end of the road, the closest eyes he’ll be able to get for this. 007 comes into view a moment later. “Be advised, you’ll be out of my sight inside. I’ll be ears only.”

_“Cheers._”

The whole room watches 007 slip behind a tree, check his weapon and settle it back into the holster under his jacket. The image is fairly blurry, but Tony can see the agent is nervous. Adrenalized. Going through comforting, automatic motions. Checking and rechecking.

Not exactly the bravado he expected to see.

“Ten o’clock,” Tony says, noticing movement from that area.

_“Just a bird, Q. No cars or recent footsteps on this path. I don’t think the target is here anymore.”_

He slips almost out of the range of the camera, barely more than a human-shaped shadow. Tony tries to zoom in anyway. “Best to be certain.”

The shadow halts at the end of the path, faced with the front entrance. A collective breath is taken.

And then he kicks down the door, bravado perfectly intact.

“D’you really think he’s 007 material?” the Quartermaster on his right says, birthmark along his jaw on full display. 001’s partner. “That he’s ready to be out in the field like this. He’s just a kid.”

Tony watches the dot move on screen, now that the agent is inside. He’s quick, clearing each room efficiently. “I think he might just surprise us all.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees. “Bit annoying, isn’t it?”

The small crowd shares a laugh and begins to disperse, now that 007’s nearly through the whole building with nothing to show for it. There is one more room in the back corner, the place Tony would hide if he had to. One way in, back window escape.

_“Did I just hear you stick up for me, Q?”_

“You heard nothing of the sort, 007.”

The red dot enters the room. _“Building’s clear. Target isn’t here.”_

Tony exhales. “Well done. I’ll arrange transport.”

**THREE**

“Heard ya didn’t find anything,” Slater says, poking his head into Tony’s office later that night.

He sets down the gun he’s fiddling with. “The location was empty. No sign of them.”

“I was really hoping…” Slater’s shoulders slump.

“They’ll show themselves again. Whoever was behind your kidnapping will be found. They always are.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, perking back up just a little. “I, uh, I actually came ‘round to ask about earlier. With 007 and the code to your office? Did ya actually change it ‘cause I--”

Tony hands over a yellow sticky note with the new set of numbers written on it. “For your eyes only.”

“Right.” He rips up the note as soon as he’s seen it, memorizing it almost instantly.

“You should get home,” Tony says. “It’s far too late for you to still be here.”

“Might be good to take your own advice one day, Q.”

Tony smiles. “One day.”

Slater flips off the main lights on his way out, leaving only Tony’s desk lamp to light his space. The rest of Q-branch falls into cold, blue light, all blinking computers and tech. It’s eerie when he thinks about it too much.

He shakes off a shiver and turns his focus back to the handgun he’s been working on for weeks. It’s bigger than average to fit more bullets but far too heavy for agents to be carrying around. He pushes his glasses up and sighs before taking the cartridge out and starting again.

He isn’t sure how long he tinkers before the next interruption. At the first beep of the alarm, he jerks his head up. That’s the agent alarm.

He rushes for his computer and locates where the distress signal had been thrown from. “Oh, bloody hell.”

Tony shoves his earpiece back in and cracks his neck. “Had to make it interesting for yourself, did you, 007?”

_“It’s not as bad as it looks.”_

Tony can hear the exertion in his voice, the gasp of each breath he sucks in. “You sent a distress signal. I’m to assume it’s exactly as bad as it looks.”

And it looks like the agent has found himself cornered in a very stylish office building thirty kilometers from where he’s meant to be. He’s taking the stairs to the roof. Idiot.

“You know there’s only one way to get you down if you go all the way up there,” Tony says, quickly bringing up as many angles of the building as he can.

_“Would you rather I head back down?”_

He counts the number of men in pursuit of the agent. “No, but you’re not allowed to be cross with me when I tell you to jump.”

_“I’m out of bullets, Q.”_

“Noted.” Tony types just a little bit faster as he hacks into the building’s security system. “What floor are you on?”

_“Thirteen.”_

“Take the door for fourteen. I’m going to lock it behind you and shut down the lifts. You’ll have sixty seconds before the generator kicks in. Tell me when you’re clear.”

There’s nothing but footsteps on concrete steps and sharp breaths until, _“Clear.”_

Tony hits enter and watches the power cut to each floor, one by one. “There’s a corner office at two o’clock, you need to break the window and jump. The window washers left you a gift three stories down.”

_“You’d like me to jump out of the window and onto a…”_

“The carriage is directly below you, I promise.” Tony hears glass break. “Thirty seconds. If you jump now, you’ll be halfway down before the power comes back on. Do it, 007.”

Tony’s breath catches when he sees the agent fall from the window but the window washing carriage catches him exactly as it should. “There should be a lever for the cord along the side to lower you down.”

The agent sprints toward the ground, nearly at a freefall. Tony realizes he’s gripping his desk, dull fingernails desperately trying to make a mark in the polished wood. 007 stops himself in time, the carriage gently crashing into the sidewalk below.

“You’re lucky no one was walking,” Tony says, only to cover up his overwhelming relief that the agent made it to the ground in once piece. The building lights have restored, and he watches the men inside continue their pursuit.

_“Is this how you get all your agents out of trouble, Q?”_

“You didn’t give me much of a choice, 007.” He scans a map of the surrounding area and draws up a plan. “Head west toward the park, there is a row of cars along that street. I suggest you pick one.”

Tony watches the agent break the passenger window of a powder blue Mini Cooper. “Very stylish.”

He doesn’t say anything as he hotwires the engine, only huffs when he doesn’t quite get it on the first try. _“Where am I headed?”_

“To the airport. I’m booking you a flight home.”

_“If you’ve given me a middle seat in Coach, I’ll ask for a transfer.”_

“Is that a promise?”

_“Don’t you dare.”_

Tony chuckles as he selects an aisle seat in first class.

**FOUR**

Tony’s agent is off-mission for less than a week. Just long enough to let the few bruises and scrapes heal properly. He spots 007 over the top of his computer monitor, striding through Q-branch like he’s meant to be there.

He doesn’t knock. “How thrilled are you that I’ve been medically cleared?”

“Am I not glowing with joy?”

The agent tosses himself into the modern leather armchair across from Tony’s desk. “Positively radiant.”

Tony saves his work and turns his full attention to the intruder. “You know, you don’t have to come down here. I would _happily_ bring you the necessary kit for your missions myself. No need for you to traipse down here to my office.”

“I like your office.”

“Of course you do.”

“Plus, I won’t be needing much for this particular outing.”

“Then why are you here?” Tony doesn’t mean for it to be such a harsh question but the way 007’s face falls ever so slightly means he’s missed his mark.

“Checking in.” The way the agent blows off his emotions is stunning. “I believe it’s protocol that an agent doesn’t just gallivant off on his Quartermaster.”

“Hasn’t stopped anyone in the past.”

“Too right.” He slaps the tops of his thighs and stands. “Do you have my things?”

“The backpack on the floor. Everything requested.” Tony frowns when the agent turns his back and insists on unzipping each pocket to check the contents. As if he’d leave anything out. “Are you quite done?”

He zips the last pocket. “Does no one ever double-check your work?”

Tony narrows his eyes. “Was anything amiss?”

“Of course not,” he says, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “See you in forty-eight hours, Q.”

“Good day, 007.”

Tony returns from the armory with hands full of bits and pieces of various electronics. He should have gone home three hours ago but the most brilliant idea popped into his head over afternoon tea and he decided he must see it through. He’ll sleep tomorrow when his agent isn’t in the field.

Speaking of said agent, Tony’s earbud is blinking when he gets to his office and settles all the parts on his workstation. “Shit.”

He rushes to answer, frantically to waking up his computer. “007? Are you in trouble?”

_“Stakeouts are dreadful.”_

Tony heaves an exasperated sigh. “Are you joking?”

_“No! I’ve been perched up this tree for hours and not a damn thing has happened.”_

“Why the bloody hell are you in a tree?” He pinches the bridge of his nose because _honestly_.

_“Best vantage point. There’s nothing else tall around here.”_

Tony pulls up 007’s location. The houses are all quite small and humble. A bit of landscaping here and there but in general, flat. “You could have just stayed in the car.”

_“I wanted some fresh air and didn’t want to look conspicuous.”_

“So you climbed a tree?”

_“Yes!”_

“Well then,” Tony says. “Since you’re perfectly safe up your tree, I’m going to go back to what I was doing.”

_“Tell me about it.”_

Tony lowers his hand from where it was reaching for his ear. “It’s technical and boring. I wouldn’t want to put you to sleep.”

_“I’m already bored; you can’t do any worse.”_

“Fine.” He goes to his workstation and sets all of the pieces upright and spread out. “I’m building a gun.”

_“Aren’t you always?”_

Tony takes apart the base gun with ease, slipping each of its parts out of place and setting them out on the table. “It is the weapon of choice in this office.”

_“What makes this gun different?”_

He scans the core of the gun for a place to put the little, tiny piece of technology he’s been working on. Somewhere close to the chamber so it can be activated, but it can’t be anywhere that would interfere with the movement of the trigger. “Each bullet will be laced with nanite gunpowder. Once the bullet hits a body, those nanites will scatter into the bloodstream, making the victim traceable. Which will be very helpful for those who get away.”

There’s no reply.

“007?”

_“That’s brilliant, Q”_

“Don’t patronize me. You’re the one who asked.” He spots a groove in the barrel that might work, if he deepened it a bit.

_“I mean, it’s not like I miss. But for 002 and the like, it should cut down on resources needed to pick up the slack.”_

Tony pushes his glasses up his nose. “What did I tell you about that chip on your shoulder, 007?”

_“That it makes me interesting._”

“I believe your hearing might need to be checked at your next physical.”

They fall into a comfortable silence. Tony fits a few pieces back together and then focuses his attention on the groove. He needs a tool small enough to reach it.

_“What made you join MI6?”_

He hums. “Probably for many of the same reasons you did, 007.”

_“I doubt that.”_

“Oh? It wasn’t for Queen and Country?”

_“Hardly._”

“Just a thrill-seeker, then?”

_“I asked first, Q.”_

So he did. “I enjoy getting into places people don't want me to be.”

_“A voyeur._”

“If you must put it like that.” He huffs and goes back to his tinkering. “And you?”

007 laughs. It’s a soft, addictive thing, that catches Tony off-guard. _“It made my dad mad. He wanted me to become a businessman, locked up in a glass tower with all the money and power I could get my hands on.”_

“You would have made an exquisite negotiator.”

_“I would have died of boredom.”_

Tony smiles. “I was right then. Thrill-seeker.”

_“If you must put it like that._”

The technology won’t fit, even with a deeper groove. He’s going to have to rebuild the whole barrel. “Any movement on your end?”

_“Not a thing. This is going to be a waste of my night.”_

“It’s not all a waste. You did get to climb a tree.”

_“And chat up a brilliant hacker.”_

Tony does not roll his eyes. “I know when I’m being buttered up. Ask the question, 007.”

_“What’s your name?”_

“You know I can’t tell you that.” He drops the piece he was working on, gearing up for an argument. Agents always want to argue about names.

_“So I’m meant to just call you Q all the time?”_

“Yes.”

_“You know my name.”_

Tony sighs. “Turnabout is not fair play in this scenario. I’m sorry.”

_“If I guess it correctly, will you tell me?”_

“You think you can guess my name, out of the hundreds of thousands of possible names.”

_“I’m certain of it. I’ve already got a significantly smaller list since I imagine it’s something quite posh, seeing the way you are. That narrows it down.”_

Tony is glad the agent can’t see the smile that stretches across his lips. “Fine then, you think you can guess my name, I’ll tell you if you get it right.”

_“Perfect. We’ll start now: Quinn.”_

“Luckily for me, having a name beginning with the letter Q was not a prerequisite for this position.”

_“I’ll keep that in mind.”_

“Lovely.”

_“Archibald.”_

“No.”

_“Christopher.”_

“Is that really _posh_?”

_“Hugo.”_

“I’m not staying up all night listening to you rattle off names. I’ve a job to do. As do you.”

_“This is much more fun.”_

Tony lets a yawn slip out as he examines the mess he’s made on his workstation. At least he has a direction to go in tomorrow. “Surely there are more interesting things to talk about than my name.”

The line is quiet and for a moment, Tony wonders if the agent has seen something, if his stakeout has struck gold. He moves to his desk and pulls up the satellite picture. A quick scan of the area doesn’t show any movement.

_“The Saint.”_

Tony’s back stiffens. “Excuse me?”

_“That’s the mystery target, isn’t it? The man who calls himself the Saint.”_

It wouldn’t have been hard for him to pick up that name. The whole of MI6 was whispering it. “Yes.”

_“Tell me about him.”_

“That’s not a question.”

_“Who is he?”_

Leave it to 007 to ask the most difficult question first. “It’s not clear. He captured a Quartermaster and an agent a few months ago and then vanished into the wind without a trace.”

_“He’s running with some very influential people in the criminal underbelly. Seemingly overnight. This bloke I’m waiting for is a high-profile gun for hire. He doesn’t mess with lowly start-ups.”_

“Yes,” he agrees. “It’s one of the many mysteries surrounding the case.”

_“Someone knows who he is.”_

“We’re counting on it.” Tony checks the time and, oh dear, no wonder he's tired.

_“You should go home, Q.”_

Tony narrows his eyes at the screen. “I’m perfectly fine.”

_“You stopped working on your gun.”_

“I ran into a snag.”

_“A problem for tomorrow, then? Off to bed with you. I’ll be just fine.”_

“You’ll be bored, and a bored agent is never good.”

_“The bitch ass has to come home eventually.”_

Tony takes his glasses off and gives his eyes a good rub. “It’s only a bit later than I usually turn in, no bother.”

_“Have it your way, Edward_.”

In the morning, when he wakes to find a wet spot on his shirt and a crick in his neck, he is ever so thankful that he doesn’t allow cameras in his office.

**FIVE**

In two weeks, Tony has a working prototype for his gun and 007 has another mission. He’s heading off to a ski lodge in the Swiss Alps to rub elbows with as many rich arseholes as he possibly can. Dropping into Tony’s office on his way out the door, he looks exactly the part.

“Have you done something with your hair?” It’s parted severely on one side and slick. “It looks terrible.”

“It’s the _style_,” 007 counters. “If I have to court arseholes, it’s best if I look like one.”

“It’s spot on, really. Bit unnerving how easily you play the role.”

“Oh, piss off. Give me a gun and I’ll be on my way.”

Tony’s mouth curls into a half-smile. “On the table.”

The agent clicks open the case, holds the little Beretta 418. Weighs it in his hand. “Bit small.”

“Didn’t think you’d want to be walking into the hotel with a sniper rifle strapped to your back.”

007 raises his eyebrows at him.

“It’ll do the job,” Tony assures him.

He snaps the case shut. “Will you be watching this one? Or is it ears only?”

Tony looks up from the code he’s typing up. “I’ll be routed into the hotel’s security system so my eyes will only be as good as what they have set up. I can use a satellite in a pinch, if necessary.”

“I assure you I won’t be needing any rescuing.”

“Famous last words,” Tony mumbles under his breath as the agent swans out of his office.

It takes exactly forty-seven minutes for Tony to realize something’s missing and another twelve to deduce what it is. “Bloody hell.” He shoves the earpiece in and opens the connection. “007.”

_“Miss me already?”_

“I believe you have something of mine.”

The agent has the audacity to laugh. _“I’m already on the plane, unfortunately. But don’t worry, I’ll bring your gun back in one piece.”_

“It’s a prototype, 007. It’s not field ready!”

_“You told me the other day that it works and is ready for testing. I thought I’d take it for a spin.”_

Tony has to take a deep breath. “Controlled. Testing. We have _protocols_ for this. None of which include a trip to the Swiss Alps!”

_“It will be perfectly fine, Q. I’ll take care of it and all the little nanites running around in that tech you outfitted it with.”_

“You’re going to get me suspended.”

_“M would never_.”

“I should have killed you in that ice rink when I had the chance.”

_“I wouldn’t have let you get a finger on the trigger, darling.”_

Tony rubs at his temples. This is completely unacceptable. “I’m filing a report.”

_“Oh come now, don’t be so boring.”_

“007,” he snaps, stern.

_“Yes, Walter?”_

“Enjoy your trip.” He mutes his earpiece and tosses it in the trash.

Later that afternoon, Tony still hates everything about this. Not only is his agent stripping down to his skivvies and slipping into a hot tub with not one but _two_ very attractive women, he has a fucking prototype weapon for when the Supreme Arsehole he’s waiting for shows up.

Which he will. Since he’s currently in the gentleman’s hotel room.

Tony snags a new earpiece from the supply and reluctantly slips it back in his ear. “You’ve got lipstick on your neck, 007.”

_“Is it my colour?”_ he asks, a smile so clear in his voice.

“It most certainly is not.” Tony isn’t sure what his body is doing but he’d appreciate if it would just, calm down. Green is not a good colour for him, especially in regards to an agent.

They train him for these scenarios and here he is, fixated on a bit of red lipstick on a neck. Unbelievable. “Why can’t you just be a shithead all the time,” he mumbles.

_“Did you just call me a shithead?”_

Tony drags his fingers through his already messy hair. “_No_. Quit listening to me and do your job.”

_“Listening to you is my job.”_

Tony desperately wishes _his_ job was not watching the agent as he gathers the women into his arms and laughs at a terrible joke. He wishes he did _not_ have to watch one of them press her freshly manicured hand against his chest, red nails standing out against his skin.

He catches himself getting lost in calculating the exact distance between their lips. Interrupted only by the very tall, very broad man inserting his key into his room door. “Incoming.”

The agent stays where he is, nipple deep in hot tub water and having a grand time. It’s starting to snow.

Tony watches the target step into his room. He takes off his winter coat and hangs it in the closet. It’s then that he realizes he has company. He has two guns, both in holsters under his suit jacket. Someone needs to tailor that better.

“_Who the hell are you?” _he asks the hot tub, reaching for one of his guns.

The agent has the audacity to smile as he grabs for the towel off the side of the tub and points Tony’s prototype right between the man’s eyes. _“I’ve been waiting for you.”_

The girls scatter, screaming into the snow.

_“And you’ve scared off my fun,”_ the agent says, putting on quite an act.

_“Who sent you?”_

_“I think I’ll be asking the questions, if you don’t mind.”_

The man cocks his gun and Tony hears his own sharp intake of breath.

_“The man who employs you goes by the moniker the Saint, yes?”_

He doesn’t respond.

_“Oh come now, I thought that was an easy one.” _007 slips the safety off the prototype like a natural. _“Do you work for the Saint, yes or no?”_

_“You are in my hot tub with a gun, I believe you know exactly who I work for.”_

_“But it’s much more fun if you say it.”_

The gunfire is loud and Tony’s on his feet in his office, face leaned close to the screen. The agent pulls the trigger to shoot back but nothing happens. “Fuck!”

He looks at the gun with disgust and Tony knows. He knows what comes next. “Do not. 007, do not thr--.”

The agent launches out of the hot tub and flings the gun at the man’s face. The distraction gives him enough time to pull the Beretta out of his discarded jacket and fire two rounds into the man’s kneecaps.

Tony could scream.

The agent circles the bleeding man, facedown on the patio. He kicks his gun out of reach and presses the Beretta between the man’s shoulder blades. _“I will only ask one more time. Who do you work for?”_

_“The Saint.”_

_“Where is he?”_

_“I don’t know.”_

007 moves his gun to the man’s temple.

_“He only ever talks to us through a computer speaker! No one’s ever seen his face! Please, I swear. I swear it’s the truth.”_

_“When was the last time you heard from him?”_

The man snuffles, clearly crying. Poor sod. _“F-five days ago.”_

_“What did he say?”_

Tony catches movement on one of the cameras he’s watching. “Incoming, 007. Get out of there.”

_“I asked you a question!”_

_“He’ll kill me.”_

_“I’ll kill you first!”_

“007, I said _move_!”

_“Tell me what he said!”_

The hotel door bursts open and three men with a much more comprehensive weapons selection rushes toward the patio. 007 pistol whips the man and makes a run for it, only hesitating to grab his jacket and shoes from the lounge chair.

_“A little help, Q.”_

Tony’s already typing, looking for a solution. “You stole my unauthorized prototype and then threw it like a _rock_.”

_“I understand your frustration, but now is not exactly the time.” _He’s slipped into his jacket, but his legs and feet are still bare. The snow is ridiculously thick. It must be freezing.

“I should make you figure this out yourself.”

_“Q.”_

“Shut up. Just shut up.” He watches where the agent goes, follows him with as many cameras as possible. The gunmen are closing in, well within shooting range. He has to think of something. He has to figure this out.

The agent takes his chances, turns and opens fire on his band of followers. He hits one in the shoulder, but it hardly does anything to slow their progress into the main lobby of the hotel. _“Get me to the roof.”_

“_Why_? That’s a horrible plan.”

_“You don’t have anything better. Get me to the roof. I’ll do the rest.”_

Tony hates this but he finds the fire escape leads his agent to the roof. “Please tell me you have extra ammunition.”

_“Won’t need it.”_

He’d like to call bullshit on his agent’s bravado but thinks better of it. “Take aim, 007. They’re nearly up the stairs.”

With less than twenty seconds to spare, Tony notices the electrical boxes sitting on the diagonal from the agent. He knows he’s quick but he’s not sure he’s quite quick enough to…

One of the boxes blows as the gunmen arrive on the roof. The distraction is just enough for 007 to neatly place three bullets, one between each pair of eyes.

“Jesus Christ.”

_“Excellent maneuver, Q.”_ He wrestles the shoes off one of the men and strips him of his pants.

“You’re welcome.”

The agent lifts his middle finger in the air. _“Now get me the hell out of here.”_

“I should leave you there.”

“But you wouldn’t.”

Now that the adrenaline is dropping, now that his agent is safe and secure, Tony feels like throwing things. “Why not?”

“Because even though you hate me, you know your job would hardly be this fun without me.”

Tony frowns, exhales. “Don’t fucking touch my projects again unless I specifically assign a weapon to you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“A helicopter is en route. Three minutes out.” He mutes his earpiece and tosses it on his desk. Fucking double-oh agents.

**SIX**

Tony doesn’t speak to 007 for three days. He’s a big enough man to admit that he’s avoiding him, dashing into closets and casually doing U-turns when he spots him in the hall.

It doesn’t last forever. The agent finally corners him in his office as he’s preparing to leave early, for once.

“Is this about the lipstick?”

“The _what_?”

“The lipstick. The girls in the hot tub. Is this about all that?”

“_No_.” Oh god, his face is flushing. He can’t decide if he’s angry or embarrassed. He pushes his glasses up his nose. “This is about your lack of appreciation for protocol.”

“Are you jealous?”

“Absolutely not.” Tony thinks he got those words out in a proper, firm tone. “What is there to be jealous of?”

The agent kind of preens, kind of stands up a little bit straighter. He gets very close to Tony and Tony’s hit with the scent of his cologne and possibly some aftershave. It’s overwhelming and he hates it.

“I didn’t sleep with the girls. But you already know that. So, if I had to guess,” he steps closer until Tony is completely pinned against his desk. “You’re jealous of the fact that I _could_ have slept with them. That I could sleep with _anyone_ that isn’t you.”

Tony sets his jaw. “You think quite highly of yourself, 007.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

Tony stands up, pushing the agent back, straightening the rolled-up cuffs of his shirt. “You’re very, very wrong.”

The agent holds his gaze for five counts before relenting, clearly unconvinced. “Alright, Q. Whatever you say.” He turns and lets himself out, shutting the door with unnecessary force.

Tony falls back into his desk chair with a huge sigh.

He shows up to work the next day to a gift on his desk and he knows who it’s from without even looking at the tag. He debates not opening it but his curiosity gets the best of him.

It’s a silk tie.

_Since you don’t seem to have any of these -007_

Tony very specifically Does Not Wear Ties but this one is nice, shiny black with a subtle diamond pattern on it.

He could wear this tie. If he had to wear a tie.

A knock comes on his door and he looks up to find the agent standing there looking as sheepish as an agent can look. Tony shoves the tie back in its box and puts the lid on it. He acts like he’s busy on his computer, typing nonsense into the search bar.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s fine.”

“Am I forgiven?”

Tony can hear the smile in the question. “I suppose.”

007 lingers for a moment more. “I’ll see you around, then.”

It isn’t a question, so Tony doesn’t answer. He does give a little wave though and feels stupid for the rest of the day.

**SEVEN**

“Q, a word please? My office.”

It’s not even eight am. Tony is barely through the gates of MI6 and M has already pounced. He frowns but follows, sipping his tea as they ascend to the top floor.

“We’ve had some developments in the Saint case. I wanted to sit down with you and come up with a more comprehensive plan.”

“What kind of developments?” 007 hasn’t been sent out on any more missions and he hadn’t brought back much intel from his last jaunt.

“A few other agents approached people we believe are closely tied to the Saint in hopes of getting one of them to turn.”

“Was there luck?”

“No,” M says. “But multiple sources mentioned never seeing him directly, that their orders came through the computer. One believes he uses voice corruption software.”

“We already knew that. From Slater and then verified by 007. Surely someone’s had face-to-face contact with him. He isn’t a ghost. We need to target higher ranking officials in his web.”

“Easier said than done, Q. No one we questioned gave up any names.”

“Then what development, exactly, do we have?”

M opens the top drawer of his desk and tosses the small plastic bag on the surface. “The last gentleman questioned was wearing this.”

Tony examines the earpiece. “It looks like one of ours.”

“An exact replica.”

“Another sign pointing to Marty still being alive?”

“So it seems.”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

M smiles. “I want you to find the bastard.”

“That’s easier said than done, sir.”

“You’re the brightest mind MI6 has seen in a hundred years,” he says. “There’s a digital footprint of this arsehole out there and we’re going to find it. You have full ministry resources behind you. Do whatever it takes.”

Tony stands. He knows a dismissal when he hears one. “Yes, sir.”

So, while keeping the entire agent fleet loaded with weapons and fancy cars and dagger shoes, Tony also spends a significant amount of his time staring at the earpiece. Priority One.

A standard headset with an embedded microphone. Nothing fancy. All the pieces and parts Tony would expect are present. Slater catches him holding the thing up to the light, squinting.

“Here’s everything we’ve got,” he says, setting down a considerable amount of paperwork. “I can walk you through whatever you need.”

“Did you take a look at this?” Tony asks, holding the earpiece out for Slater.

“Yeah, I couldn’t find anything. It’s definitely our tech right down to the Q signature. It’s Marty’s.”

“The Q signature…oh that’s _it_! That’s it. _How_ could I have been so stupid.”

“You would’ve gotten there eventually,” Slater says with a smile. “But, uh, how does that help us exactly?”

“All of the earpieces have their own frequency, depending on the Q they’re wired to. If I rewire one of my own devices to Marty’s frequency I could _listen_.”

“Oi, that’s _brilliant_.”

“What’s the last frequency we have on file?”

“It should be in…” Slater scans the pile and slips out a thick manila folder. “This one. Braydon put it together.”

Tony skims through the information, flipping over page after page until he finds the tech specs. It’s easy to reprogram a spare earpiece, just a few clicks of a button and a few lines of code. He mutes the microphone before slipping the receiver into his ear.

_“—t unusual for him to be late.”_

“Bloody hell, it’s working.”

Slater comes closer, eyes wide with hope. “You can hear him?”

“I can hear someone. Two blokes having a conversation. It’s only a matter of time before they give something up.” He opens the backup folder for the earpiece and double-checks the tech is recording. “We’ve got him.”

Slater wraps his arms around Tony’s shoulders from behind, smacking a big kiss on his left cheek. “I’m going to tell Braydon the news.”

Tony waves him out of his office and immediately reassigns the other tasks on his to-do list for the day. He calls in a couple of techs, two more pairs of ears to go over the data they collect, transcribe it, analyze voices and background noise. They can’t afford to miss anything.

Tony only realizes he’s the last one in the office when the lights of Q-branch go out. It’s well after 11pm. He’s been listening to the earpiece for nearly 12 hours and has nothing. He groans, slips off his glasses and rubs his eyes.

He reluctantly leaves the earpiece locked away in his desk, but, as he walks to the tube station he can’t help but think about what new information is going to be there for him in the morning. Can’t help wondering if the techs will find something he overlooked.

The announcement of his stop surprises him, it hadn’t felt that long of a ride. He tucks his scarf around his face and makes sure his toque is pulled low over his ears before braving the midnight chill. It’s snowing a bit again, fresh white falling to cover the dirty piles on the side of the road.

His flat is freezing when he lets himself in, he can almost see his breath. The thermostat is working, to his relief, and he kicks the heat up to a sweltering 30. He flicks on the kettle and pulls down a mug. There’s a row of matching mugs along the edge of the sink, half-filled with tea dregs and lemon rinds.

Something for Tony to do tomorrow.

The chamomile warms him up quickly and he hangs his scarf and hat with his coat by the door. He wraps himself up in the thickest of his blankets before curling up on the couch. There’s nothing good on the telly but the blue haze it casts into the room is comforting.

It’s not long before his eyes feel heavy enough to close.

“We’ve got something.” Tony has to do a double-take, the tech looks like 009 from the quick initial glance he’d given him but no, too short. Too many angles. He has to have been waiting by Tony’s office all morning and he follows him inside to present his tablet. “There’s a fundraiser coming up and all of the main players are attending. The Saint is looking for donors. We found a guestlist for it and I think you’ll recognize some of the names.”

Tony scans the list. “Almost every top-level arms dealer is on here.”

“It’s like a Who’s Who of Britain’s Worst Enemies.”

“This is perfect. What else did you find?”

The tech clears his throat. “We believe Harlaxton Manor is the Saint’s main headquarters. The heat pattern from satellite pictures indicates there may be a massive mainframe located there.”

“Oh?”

“If we could get someone there for the event, someone who could get into that mainframe, we could find everything we needed.”

Tony takes the liberty of adding one more name to the guest list. “Oh, look at that,” he says, handing the tablet back. “It seems 007 and a guest have just RSVP’d.”

“Why do you have to go into the field?” 007 asks, keeping pace with Tony as he rushes for M’s office.

“Because I’m the best hacker we have.”

“I’m very teachable.”

“It will be much more efficient if I do the work myself.” Tony chances a glance the agent’s way. “I am trained, you know.”

He scoffs.

“We’re not all just helpless little Quartermasters.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth. I’m simply worried that this might be a bit _big_ for your first time out of the office.”

“What makes you think this will be my first time?” Tony knocks on M’s door.

“Come in.”

“We’ve had a break in the Saint case,” he says, not bothering with introductions. “There is a fundraising event coming up and I’ve secured two spots on the guestlist. We believe there is a large computer system set up at the location where the fundraiser is taking place and it may be our best chance to gather everything we need to take him down.”

M glances from Tony to 007 and back again. “I assume you are wanting to go into the field, then?”

“It would be the most efficient.”

“Indeed,” M agrees. “Take 005, he’s up to date on the case.”

007 steps forward and clears his throat. “No offence, sir, but Q is my Quartermaster and I’d feel more comfortable if it was me accompanying him.”

“I’m sure you would, but 005 has the upper hand here.”

“There’s plenty of time for me to do my homework on his missing Quartermaster and the intel he’s gathered from his personal run-ins with the Saint.”

“If that was all he had to offer to this case, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

The agent slams his fist against M’s desk. “Q isn’t going into the field without me.”

“That’s not your call to make, 007.”

“Like hell it’s not!”

“Double-o--.” Tony tries but the agent continues.

“If you want him on this mission than I am going with him. You can send 005 as well but we’ll need to add another name to the guestlist.”

M crosses his arms and looks to Tony. “And what do you have to say?”

He considers his words very carefully before speaking. “I appreciate the reasons for sending me with 005, but, in this case, I believe 007 makes a particularly valid point.”

“You do.”

“I do.”

His agent looks just as surprised as M.

“And here I thought you’d relish the opportunity to get away from him. You’ll take the lead, then, Q. 007 will back you up.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The agent has already turned to leave.

“That went well,” he says once Tony’s followed him out of M’s office. He smooths his cuffs and buttons his jacket.

“You were a brat,” Tony says, trying to hide just how pleased he is with the result.

007 simply smiles and walks away.

**EIGHT**

Tony slips the key into the slot and waits for the light to blink green. It’s nothing special, the room, but it’ll do in a pinch.

That is, until they clear the narrow hall and spot the single, queen-sized bed.

“Damn it, Moneypenny,” Tony grumbles. “I’ll go see if there are any other roo--.”

“We don’t have time,” the agent interrupts. “You need to set up shop and then we’ll need to go for a walkaround.”

“But there’s only one bed.”

He shrugs, like it all just doesn’t matter.

“I’ll be right back.” Tony will _not_ be sleeping in the same bed as his agent. It’s bad enough that he’s been…_feeling_ things. Horrible, stupid things.

He jabs the lift button a few extra times.

It’s a large hotel. Surely there are spare rooms with a set of double beds.

“I’m sorry sir, there doesn’t seem to be any doubles available. We do have a king room, if that might suit you better?”

The girl behind the desk has a very kind smile and it’s not her fault that her hotel is nearly at capacity. It’s not. That doesn’t mean Tony wants to leap over the desk and make a scene any less.

“You know,” he says, regaining his composure. “A king bed might just be better. We’ll take it.”

At least now they’ll have more space between them.

“We’re running late,” 007 says from the edge of their king-sized bed. He’s been watching Tony set up his laptop and additional screens in silence, until now. “The guards around the house change shifts at precisely 7:25pm and we’re going to miss that window.”

“I’m nearly finished.”

“We’re still running late.”

Tony connects to the MI6 mainframe and quickly sets up an electronic shield for the room. “There. We can go now.”

The agent is on his feet immediately, shrugging back into his suit coat. “I could have just gone by myself.”

Tony huffs and shoves his knit hat over his curls. “You don’t know what you’re looking for.”

“Neither do you! You just think you’ll recognize it when you see it. It’s ridiculous.”

“Listen to me,” Tony says, turning around to step right up into 007’s space. “I am the lead on this mission. That means you defer to _me_. What I say, goes, is that clear?”

The agent slips his own bottom lip between his teeth, eyes dropping down to Tony’s mouth and back up to hold his gaze. His cheeks are pink. “As you wish, Q.”

Right, then.

The house is on the outskirts of the town, down a very lovely country road. It can hardly be called a _house_, Tony corrects himself. It most certainly is a manor.

“Seems like it’ll be easy to find something in there,” 007 says.

Harlaxton Manor is massive. There are possibly hundreds of rooms enclosed in the grand off-white façade. Lovely. “A room full of electronics is always easy to find. I assure you, it won’t be a problem.”

“Do they put signs on those kinds of rooms? Neon arrows pointing you the way?”

Tony almost doesn’t reward his sass with a response but then, it would bother him if he didn’t. “The heat a large mainframe puts off is very easily detected with the correct tools. It will give the room away immediately.”

“And I’m sure you brought all of the correct tools.”

“Don’t I always?” He pulls the heat sensor out of his pocket and clicks it on.

“Oi! What are you doing over there?”

“Shit.” Tony stuffs his gadget back in his pocket as the security guard closes in on them.

007 reaches for his gun but Tony stops him. “I’ve got this.”

He holds his hands up as he walks toward the guard, a big smile on his face. “I’m sorry, sir. We were, well. We’re having our wedding here in the next week and we just had to see it in the dark, with all the lights on. My gosh, it’s beautiful under all these stars, isn’t it?”

“The manor’s closed. You’re trespassing.”

“Well, yes. And we’re so sorry! Like I said, we’re just over the moon about…we’ll get out of your hair.” He smiles as brightly as he can. “Have a good night, sir.”

Tony frowns when he turns back to his agent. He slips his arm around 007’s elbow and leads him back out toward the street. “That could have gone better. We didn’t find anything at all. Now we’ll have to go in practically blind. This is a disaster.”

“Where’d that little act come from?”

“America. Oklahoma, to be exact.” He puts on the soft accent with a twang, natural as anything.

“No, I mean, I didn’t realize you could do that sort of thing. And us? Married? I’m surprised the guard even bought it.”

“I can do a lot of things you don’t know about.” Tony raises his eyebrows. “I’m convincing when I need to be.”

“Okay, Alfred.”

They clear the gate and head back toward the car they parked in a Tesco lot a kilometer away. “Why are you only picking old man names for me?”

“Because I love to see how upset you get about it.”

“I’m not upset.”

“The furrow between your eyes tells me differently.”

Tony rubs at the spot. “Don’t look at my furrow.”

The agent smirks. “As you wish, Bartholomew.”

Tony’s quite disappointed to walk back into their hotel room and still find one single, king-sized bed. “Guess this can’t be avoided any longer.”

“I feel like we should be on first name basis before sharing a bed.” The agent unbuttons his shirt without a care, hangs it up neatly in the closet before unlatching his belt.

Tony huffs, turns away. “Hardly, 007.”

“Seems a bit one-sided.”

Tony’s fluffing the pillow he’s claimed. “There’s a very good reason my identity is kept above your pay grade.”

“Which is?” He’s got an eyebrow raised, arms folded across his chest.

“It makes no difference what my name is.”

“It does to me.”

“You’ve been doing a remarkable job just making one up when it suits you. Carry on with that, if it’s so important.”

“Lewis.”

Tony wrinkles his nose. “Do I really look like a _Lewis_ to you?”

“You could,” he says, slipping under the thick duvet and clicking off the lamp on his side of the bed. “Or a Henry.”

Tony folds down the duvet on his side and sits with his back to his agent. “Have you considered that I may be like you? With dual citizenship and a name to match that half of my lineage?”

“That would be quite a twist. A posh little Caesar.”

Tony clicks off his light, throwing the whole room into a cool darkness. He lays down, tries to make himself as compact as possible. “I’m full of surprises.”

“So I’ve come to learn. Goodnight, Reginald.”

He closes his eyes, tries desperately to think about anything other than how small the space between their bodies is. “Goodnight, 007.”

Tony lays awake for seemingly hours, too nervous to move and jostle his bedmate to truly get comfortable, too tense about being so close. Agents are notoriously light sleepers so an accidental brush of skin would be inexcusable. He tries to count his breaths, to run through lines of code he knows by heart, list the elements of the periodic table in order.

007 lets out a soft snore, exhales a deep puff of air. Fast asleep.

How lovely for him.

**NINE**

Tony wakes when the first morning light streams through the curtains and pings him right in the eye. It takes him a moment to realize where his limbs are and well, fuck.

In his restless sleep, he managed to curl himself around his agent, head pillowed on his shoulder and legs all twisted up together.

There's definitely an arm stretched out under his neck and across the pillow that was his when he fell asleep. He wonders if the agent’s arm settled around him in the night or if he was the one to roll toward him. Maybe it was 007 who drew him in, held him close...

There’s no way to know for sure. He simply needs to get up and stop thinking about it. There's absolutely no use in thinking about any of it at all. Not when there’s a mission to execute.

Montgomery Watson and Charles Ferguson arrive at Harlaxton Manor without a hitch, both looking quite convincingly the part. Tony despairs at how constricting the black silk tie feels around his neck but it’s best to blend in at these types of things.

007 looks completely comfortable in the suit he brought for the occasion: white jacket with black lapels and a pair of slim black tuxedo pants. He lets one of the butlers take his hat and dress coat before turning to Tony to divest him of his own coat and thick scarf.

“Thank you, Monty.”

“Not at all, Charles.”

Tony lets himself be led to the grand ballroom that’s hosting the event, keeping his eyes moving as they pass staircases and exit signs. He grabs a glass of champagne just to have something to do with his hands.

“Nothing from the sensor yet,” he says. “But that’s to be expected. It’s probably on the opposite end of the campus.”

“Or upstairs,” 007 suggests, indicating the grand staircase with his eyebrows.

It’s across the way from the entrance, blocked by a whole mass of people politely dancing to the classical waltz the string quartet is playing.

“Should we split up?”

The agent considers. “Probably best to do one at a time. I don’t want to leave you without backup if you need it.”

“That’s very kind, but I can handle myself. If necessary.”

“I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

Tony wishes he didn’t look so heroic and earnest when he said it. The words nearly steal the breath from his very lungs. He takes a step back, gives himself some room. “As you wish.”

007 closes the distance, reaches up to check the knot of Tony’s tie – the tie he _gifted_ him – and smooth it down the front of his shirt.

Small mercies his hand doesn’t drop below the button of Tony’s jacket. He might have passed out.

“Shall we dance?”

Tony sputters on the last sip of his champagne. “Excuse me?”

“The quickest path to the stairs is straight across the floor.”

It’s preposterous that they can’t just casually go around the edge of the room to get to the stairs. The event is hours long, they aren’t pressed for time. Tony opens his mouth to say just that when 007 takes his now empty champagne glass from him and sets it on a tray that passes by.

“Just follow my lead.” He takes Tony’s waist and waits for him to assume his assigned position.

“I do know how to waltz,” he makes clear after taking 007’s hand and being turned onto the dancefloor.

“You can lead next time, then.”

Next time, as if either of them will ever be in this position again. “Do they teach you how to dance in the academy?”

“My grandmother taught me.”

It’s far too personal a piece of information for it to be true, but the image it conjures in Tony’s head is sweet.

“Who taught you?” he asks, turning the tables. “They did a very good job.”

Tony feels warm at the compliment. “I did go to public school.”

“They teach dancing at Eton?”

“What makes you think I went to Eton?” Tony huffs.

“Oh, don’t tell me you went to Harrow.”

“God, no.”

The agent smiles and Tony hates it. The truth is, he went to Winchester College but he’d never tell the agent that. It’s far too much information for him to run with.

They’ve nearly made their way across the room when Tony gets pushed from behind. It’s not a vicious shove but it’s enough that he teeters off-balance and 007 has to take his weight. He looks up to apologize and realizes, oh dear.

He’s pressed firmly against the agent’s chest, his eyes now level with the man’s mouth. The hand that was on Tony’s waist has slid to the small of his back, holding him steady. It’s distressingly intimate.

“Right then,” he says, fully separating himself from his agent. “Seems we’ve arrived.”

They both turn to look at the bottom few steps of the grand staircase. “Shall we?”

Tony goes first. There’s plenty of room on the stairs but he steps to the side when a group of beautifully dressed women crosses their path, heading back down to the party. He smiles politely and takes 007’s hand to lead him around the curve and to the landing.

A couple of men are circled up to the left, chatting. The scent of cigars curls under Tony’s nose. To the right, it’s clear.

007 settles on the ornate bench at the top of the stairs and casually slips his earpiece in. “Good sight lines.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Tony heads to the right and takes the small heat sensor from his jacket pocket. It blinks green as he walks by at least eight rooms. The hall takes a sharp left turn and he continues to check each door, the sensor remaining green.

He notices a security camera pointed his way, hanging from the ceiling. Not at all trying to be subtle. “I think I’ve found it,” he says. “There’s a security camera at the entrance. It’s already seen me so I’ll have to be quick.”

The heat sensor glows red and Tony knows he’s right. The double doors at the end of the hall house the mainframe.

_“I’ll cover you as long as I can but if I tell you to get out, I mean it.”_

“Yes, sir.” The words drip with sarcasm.

Upon closer inspection, the door is locked with a 9-digit keypad. Tony takes the codebreaker fountain pen out of the inside pocket of his jacket, unscrews it, and plugs it into the mini usb port at the bottom of the lock.

The door clicks open.

The room is filled with multiple servers and at least five CPUs, all slow blinking just out of rhythm. He picks the nearest desktop and uses the pen to gain access once again. It takes longer than he’d like, having to cycle through a full 16 characters. Someone knows how to create a strong password.

“I’m in.”

_“There are two gentlemen heading for the staircase. You may not have much time.”_

“Do your best.”

Tony brings up a list of all the hidden files on the servers and scans them until – there. The folder is one of the largest saved. It contains hundreds of photographs and memos, meeting notes, blueprints for weapons, manifestos…

_“They’re climbing the stairs. I’m going to tackle them.”_

“Do not do that. I’m almost done.” He’s started copying the folder to the pen but it’s taking too long.

_“If I have to cause a distraction, it’s going to get physical.”_

“I’d rather you choose a distraction that won’t get you killed.”

_“I’m hurt that you don’t think I could take this chap. He’s not that big.”_

The file is nearly half copied and finally, yes. There it is: the addresses to all of their safehouses. “I’ve got it. Just _wait_, 007. Do not do anything rash.”

_“I would suggest you take the window exit.”_

“The wind—”

It’s clear the agent has engaged the guards. Tony can hear the effort of throwing punches over the earpiece. The file has fully copied onto the pen and he rips it from the computer, tucking it safely back into his jacket pocket.

“I’m coming out.” Before exiting the room, Tony crouches down to unhook the gun from his ankle, 007’s usual Beretta.

He takes aim and swings the door open, exhales when the hall is clear.

_“The…the stairs…it’s not clear, Q. Stay back.”_

Not on his life. Tony breaks into a run back toward the landing. “Stand down or I’ll shoot!”

007 has the audacity to roll his eyes. “How come _you _got to bring a gun?”

“Is that really the question you would like to ask me at this very moment?” One of the guards is unconscious, slumped over by the bench the agent had been sitting in. Tony aims for the other, right at his chest.

“One of many, if I’m to be honest. Did you get what you came for, darling?”

“I did.”

The agent turns back to the guard and lands one heavy punch to the side of his head. “Then I believe it’s time we leave. After you.”

They flee down the stairs but it’s too late. More armed men have rushed the party.

“Give me the gun,” the agent says. “I’ll cover you. Get the information to M. Go.”

“I’m not just going to leave you behind.”

“Oh, don’t play the hero. _Go_.”

Tony hands over the gun before continuing down the stairs. The first gunshot is loud and sends party guests scattering. If Tony can just blend in with them, slip out with a group of screaming women, he could make it to the car.

He makes the fatal error of turning to look back at his agent, just to make sure he’s holding his own. Tony sees the guard from the landing, blood dripping down the side of his face. 007 doesn’t know, too preoccupied with the fleet of men on the dance floor. The guard has a clear shot.

“007!” He closes the distance between them, taking the few stairs in one great leap.

He’s able to knock the agent off balance just enough to _oh fuck_. He reaches for his shoulder where the sudden pain is blistering white. His fingers come away covered in red. Blood. His blood.

007 is there, eyes fixed on the wound and then Tony’s face. He takes aim and levels the guard before turning back to the crowd. His shots sound distant to Tony, like it’s in a whole different room. Barely echoes of sound. He’s feeling quite faint, the wound must be big. Gushing, maybe. This suit will be ruined.

It’s difficult to stay on his feet with his head swimming. He reaches for the handrail to steady himself. The pen. He checks that the pen wasn’t damaged by the bullet. Oh god, if this was all for nothing…but no. No, it’s all fine. All in one piece.

“Double-oh…” His voice is groggy, slow. Darkness crowds his vision and it’s almost over. His body is shutting down. No, _no._ Not yet. “Doub…”

**TEN**

The agent is there to catch him before he tumbles down the stairs. “That’s supposed to be my job, you idiot,” he says, taking nearly all of Tony’s weight. “Do I need to carry you or can you move your feet?”

“I can…”

In a miraculous show of strength, the agent lifts Tony up and over his shoulders. A sharp spike of pain clears his mind for mere seconds before it all settles back into a haze. He’s not certain if he hears more bullets. The gun is probably empty by now.

It isn’t long before the cold winter air hits Tony’s skin. They can’t walk back, they’d never make it. “What are you…”

“Bring my car around and I won’t shoot you,” 007 says in his very best agent voice.

The valet presumably does as he’s told, Tony realizes, when he wakes up in the passenger seat of the Aston Martin. “H-how long was I out?”

“We’re almost back to the hotel.”

Tony reaches for his shoulder and hisses when he finds the wound.

“I’m not sure if the bullet is still inside,” 007 says.

“Lovely.”

“I won’t be able to carry you through the lobby. You’ll have to find the last bit of strength you have, Q.”

Tony closes his eyes. “Whatever needs to be done.”

The agent smiles at the hotel valet as he opens Tony’s door and helps him find his footing. “Bit too much wine, I’m afraid.”

The valet eats it up.

Tony hopes he doesn’t notice the blood stains on the passenger seat.

“Alright?”

He looks at his agent, still steadying him, and nods. “Alright.”

As he crosses the brightly lit, wide open lobby, Tony’s mind is narrowly focused on the movement of his body. One step and then the other. In a straight line, don’t get too wobbly. Head up, eyes forward. He puts his left hand in his pocket in hopes of looking casual (and not having to swing his bloody arm). It’s excruciating.

However, 007’s hand is firm against the small of his back, and that’s enough to get him to the lift.

He sags against the mirrored walls and grimaces at the smear of blood on the glass. 007 is in his space then, hands cupping his jaw and holding his head up. “Nearly there.”

“I think there might be…too much loss.”

The lift dings and 007 gets Tony’s good arm around his shoulder to walk him down the hall. He has Tony brace himself on the wall outside the room while he makes sure no one is waiting for them inside.

He lays Tony out on the bed once it’s all clear. “Take off your jacket and shirt.”

He tries, he really does try but, “I c-can’t. I can’t, please.”

007 rushes back to his side. “You’re okay. We’re safe here.” He’s gentle when he peels Tony’s soiled jacket from his shoulders.

He works on the buttons of Tony’s shirt next and each one he gets undone is almost unbearable, the touch of his fingertips on Tony’s skin. It’s intimate for all the wrong reasons.

“I think some of the shirt has stuck to the wound. It’s going to hurt but I have to take it off.”

“Do it.” Tony grits his jaw. “Just fucking do it.”

The whole left side of the shirt is soaked in red, darker near the jagged bullet hole. 007 is as gentle as he can be when he pulls the shirt away and off. “No exit wound.”

“So you have to get it out?”

“No. No, we’ll leave it in for now. It’s harmless. And with the amount of blood you’ve already lost, I don’t want you to pass out. I’ll just…I’ll clean it and stitch you up.”

In true double-oh fashion, the agent produces a fifth of vodka and pours a hefty amount over Tony’s shoulder. The alcohol stings, _fuck_ does it sting.

“I know, I know. Here.” The agent holds the bottle to Tony’s lips and he swallows a shot. The burn spreads from his shoulder to his tongue. He realizes his fingers are digging into the meat of 007’s thigh and he truly cannot be arsed to do anything about it.

The agent takes a drink for himself, too. “Right, then.”

The wound is big. Tony thinks it looks too big for the butterfly stitches the agent pulled out of the med kit. “Are you sure those are…will those really work?”

“No. But I wanted to try the kinder way first.”

“Cheers.”

It’s a struggle to get the wound closed with the bandages and Tony has to be the one to throw in the towel, gently stilling the agent’s hands.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Tony says. “Everyone will think I’m so rugged with a proper scar.”

Another splash of vodka for the wound and each other’s mouths before 007 begins to stitch Tony up. The needle is thin and after so long, Tony barely feels the prick. His agent has his bottom lip bitten between his teeth, eyes so focused on the task at hand.

Tony thinks he’s feeling quite woozy and a bit buzzed but he wants to press his thumb to where 007’s teeth leave indentions on his lip.

“There,” he says, tying off the last stitch. “That should hold until we can get you to a proper hospital.”

He can’t help but run his fingers along the newly closed skin, feeling the foreign material criss-crossed over it. “Do they teach you how to do this to yourself? At the academy?”

007 is tidying up but he nods. “Yes.”

“I don’t think I could do it.”

“You can do anything you set your mind to, Anthony.”

Tony stops breathing, falls completely still, at his name slipping out of his agent’s mouth. So casual like it’s any other name, like it’s not the whole of Tony’s identity. He clings on to the way the agent’s mouth forms the letters. Focuses on that instead of the lingering pain of his shoulder and the exhaustion clouding his mind. “You have quite a lot of faith in my mind.”

The agent looks at him, really looks. Cataloguing.

Tony wants to ask what he sees.

“It’s one of the very few things I would never bet against.” He hangs up his jacket, even though there’s bloodstains on one of the sleeves. “You should rest.”

That sounds like a brilliant idea but, “the pen,” he says. “The information I gathered from the mainframe. You need to send it to headquarters. They need to…to analyze. Someone there can narrow down the safehouses.”

“I’ll do it,” 007 says. “I’ll send it. Don’t worry. We’ll find him.”

“In my jacket. In the pocket.”

“Yes, Q. I’ve got it.” The agent is back at the edge of the bed, looking over Tony. “Let yourself sleep.”

Tony thinks he feels a hand brush at the curls on his forehead but perhaps he’s already dreaming.

**ELEVEN**

Tony wakes in a panic. He jolts to sitting and has his feet on the floor before the pain registers. “Fuck,” he groans, reaching for his shoulder.

“Q, hey…” 007 puts a gentle hand on Tony’s back. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Tony scrubs his hand over his face. “I know I just…it feels like I should be doing something.”

“The information you gathered is in good hands. They’ll figure it out.”

“Did they say who was running the analysis? Who did they give it to?”

“Does it matter? Any of the other Qs will be able to handle it.”

“It does matter because some of us are better at things than others. If they give it to the wrong person, we could lose valuable time!”

The agent sighs and shifts around on the other half of the bed. “Lay back down, it’s still early. You need rest.”

“I’m not—” He stops himself, takes a deep breath. The dream he’d been having, he was running and there were men chasing them. Guns, big ones, and bullets raining down like water all around them. He’s still adrenalized. “You’re right.”

“Sleep will help.”

Tony leans back and gets settled. “The dreams are a bit counterproductive, to be fair.”

He chances a glance at the agent, now propped up on one arm and looking as sad as Tony’s ever seen him.

“Don’t look at me like that. Everyone talks about the dreams. You get used to them, I’ve heard.” He fluffs the duvet and smooths it out over his chest. “The heightened adrenal responses can be counteracted. I’ll be fine.”

“Why didn’t you let me take the bullet?”

What an overwhelming question. “It would have killed you. He would have gotten you right in the back of the head.”

“He wasn’t that good of a shot.”

“How was I supposed to know that! I just assume everyone is as good as you.”

007 catches one of his flailing hands, lays it back on his stomach and smooths out his fingers. Tony breathes. “You’re giving everyone else far too much credit.”

Tony steals his hand back and picks at his thumb. Anything to avoid looking his agent in the face.

“Thank you,” he says. “For what you did. I hadn’t said it yet.”

“Of course,” Tony brushes off.

As if on cue, a notification pings on Tony’s computer system, drawing their attention.

“Stay,” the agent says, springing from bed to take a closer look. “It’s a message from M. They’ve narrowed down the list of safehouses to two. One in Quebec and one in Clearwater, Florida.”

“Where in Quebec?” Tony asks.

“Laval.”

“The Q that’s missing…Marty. His family is from Laval. Why would the Saint have a safehouse there?”

“To lure us? He’s been flaunting our own tech at us this whole time, not exactly making it a secret he has the Q.”

Tony’s mind is spinning, twisting and turning down rabbit holes of data. “What if there isn’t anyone else?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if the Saint isn’t holding Marty captive. What if Marty _is_ the Saint?”

“That’s impossible,” the agent says. “Marty was kidnapped. 005 was left for dead.”

“Was he?” Tony’s getting on a roll, heart rate up, mind whirring. “That whole mission is a blur. We’ve done our best to fill in gaps and pieces that didn’t make sense on the assumption that they were both kidnapped. But what if that assumption was wrong?”

“Why would a Quartermaster do something like this?”

“Not everyone is born with the same sense of loyalty as you, 007.” Tony pushes up to his feet, crosses the room to scan the data on the computer screen. “We’re closing in on him,” he says. “If he wanted to gain an upper hand, he’d go to the place he knows better than anyone else. His hometown.”

The room falls silent, just the two of them settling in with Tony’s words.

“Okay, so I’ll just…” 007 turns back to the computer and starts typing a reply. “I’ll catch a flight from here, meet the techs on the ground to get up to speed. I’ll get him.”

“And what am I meant to do?”

“Go home.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“Q, you’re injured. You’re no good to anyone in the field. There are more than enough Quartermasters to lead me just this once.”

“I’m not letting you do this by yourself!” Tony shouts. “I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

“I wouldn’t be alone.”

“But you wouldn’t have me!”

The agent opens his mouth, but Tony pushes on.

“I’m going. Only to be your eyes and ears, safely behind a computer screen,” Tony compromises. “Please, 007. You don’t need a whole team, you just need me.”

The agent’s gaze is fierce, holding Tony in place. “If you insist.”

That settles it.

**TWELVE**

The flight to Quebec is long. Long enough that Tony falls into a fitful nap, head pressed up against the hard plane window. They hit turbulence and his shoulder jostles in a way that makes him complain. 007 is there, shifting him so he’s leaning the other way, head pillowed on the agent’s shoulder.

He smells nice.

“They want to send 004 to meet us,” he says into Tony’s hair. “And make his Q the lead.”

“No.”

“That’s what I said. In a few more colourful words.”

Tony tilts his head up to get a good look at his agent’s face.

“A few techs in the area are going to meet us and a pair of backup soldiers stationed nearby will join me in the field. But 004 and his Q are staying in London.”

“Slater and 005 should be running point back at headquarters,” he counters. “They know what we’re getting ourselves into.”

“I want you in my ear,” the agent says. “No one else.”

It’s easy to slip his hand under 007’s, fit his fingers into the spaces between and hold on tight. “Just me.”

Upon arrival, it’s full steam ahead until the hotel room Moneypenny secured them is set up to Tony’s specifications. Satisfied, he catches 007 pacing in the hall just outside the door.

“Stop pacing, you’ll wear yourself out.”

“I’m not pacing, I’m stalking.”

Tony flaps his hands and sighs. “At least drink some water. The vodka you had on the plane will do you no favors in the field.”

“We’re wasting valuable time. He could be gone by now!”

“Do _not_ pressure me, 007. We’re doing this properly or we’re not doing this at all.”

“Give me a gun and let me find the bastard.”

“Look at me,” Tony demands.

The agent stops pacing.

“We’re going to get him. I have no doubts. But I’m not letting you out of my sight until I know I can protect you.”

“We’re online, Q,” one of the Montreal-based techs says, sticking his head out of the door.

“_Finally_,” the agent shouts.

“Thank you, Matt,” Tony says. “Let’s get 007 outfitted before he throws a tantrum.”

Tony gives his agent his preferred handgun as well as something a little heavier to strap across his back, a standard codebreaker pen, and a knife with a smoke bomb in the handle. He watches him slip the weapons into their proper places, covering it all with a neatly pressed suit jacket.

It shouldn’t feel different from any of the other missions 007 has been on, but Tony is tense. It feels bigger, no matter what he tries to tell himself. “Let me.”

His agent drops the ends of his tie and Tony’s hands take over, looping the classic black tie over and around itself until a very respectable knot slides snug to his collar.

“How do I look?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “You know how you look.”

“A little ego boost never hurts.”

He hands over an earpiece. “We have some blind spots inside,” he says. “But I’ll be here the whole time.”

The agent tucks the piece in place, checks his handgun is loaded, and slips it into the holster. Ready.

“007, I…” Tony has no idea how he meant to finish the sentence. Everything that comes to mind is far too much for this kind of moment.

The agent leans his forehead against Tony’s, close enough to whisper, “I know.”

And then he’s gone, heading for the exit. The hard click of the stairwell door brings Tony back to himself. Deep inhale. Exhale.

He steps back into the hotel room. “Let’s bring down a traitor, shall we?”

007 and his team are efficient. Tony barely has to give any sort of instruction or direction as they approach the safehouse.

It’s an abandoned warehouse, very villain. A set of train tracks runs behind the building and a river on the other side of that. Easy escape routes. He cuts the cameras on the outside of the building, loops a 30 second clip of the grass and trees. “Loop is in place. Go ahead, 007.”

_“How many inside?”_

He switches to a heatmap view, scans each floor. “Two in the front and one more in the far west corner, in motion. One upstairs in the loft sitting or laying down.”

_“On my count.”_

Tony watches the raid and once they’re all inside, switches to the only camera he could gain access to. It’s upstairs where the single heat source is waiting. He listens to the gunfire on the lower floor and waits until it quiets.

_“One man in critical condition, I told the other to take him back to base for medical attention.” _007 heads for the stairs quickly, handgun extended in front of him. _“It’s just you and me, Q.”_

Tony can tell he’s already abandoned the assault rifle he gave him. “You’re an _idiot_.”

_“I believe you called it the ‘chip on my shoulder’.”_

“And do you recall what else I said about that chip?”

The agent doesn’t respond as he takes the stairs.

“If you can draw him closer to the stairs, I’ll have eyes. Otherwise, you’re in the dark. I can’t help you.” Tony tries to get the camera to zoom in but it only makes the picture grainy. Cheap fucking equipment.

A slow clap fills the earpiece. _“Bravo, agent.”_

_“The Saint, I presume?”_

_“You finally found me. Or did the man in your ear do all the work? Are you just the finger that pulls the trigger for the delicate geniuses that get to stay tucked away from the blood and the pain of it all?”_

“Don’t take the bait. Do not engage him, 007. I repeat, do not engage.”

The agent readies his weapon, the click of the chamber clear. _“There’s no shame in working as a team. But I understand that’s difficult for you to comprehend.”_

The Saint laughs, a dark menacing thing. _“You think you’re part of a team? They don’t consider you anything other than a number. Replaceable in the blink of an eye.”_

_“I didn’t become an agent expecting to live forever.”_

_“No, no. You’re all adrenaline cowboys ready to die for Queen and Country. Big brutes with nothing between your ears but what we tell you.”_

_“I think 005 might be a bit offended to hear you think so lowly of him.”_

“007…” Tony warns.

_“He was an exception,” _the Saint scoffs. _“An acceptable consolation for what was taken from me.”_

_“And what was that?”_

Tony pulls up Marty’s file, searching for any losses, any children or wives or husbands that left. Mother, father, sisters… There’s no mention of a loss, nothing Tony can see that would motivate a turn of loyalty.

The Saint’s heat signature begins to move, circling 007. _“You’re too young to know,_” he says. _“Probably weren’t even in the academy yet.”_

“Keep him talking, 007.”

_“But when I started working for MI6, I was at the bottom of the food chain. Overlooked and underappreciated. No one expected me to become anything despite by pedigree and education. My resume was sparkling, exactly what they looked for in a Quartermaster.”_

Tony looks for himself. MIT educated in the States, top of his class, graduated with honors and multiple published papers in computer science. Five professors wrote letters of recommendation for him, two more than requested. He was a model student.

_“I wasn’t British enough. Didn’t wear button-ups and ties like all the rest of the Cambridge educated cutouts sitting at their desks. I was too different.”_

_“You ran 005 for years, he trusted you with his life,_” the agent says. _“You had a pristine record. I can’t imagine what more you could want.”_

The Saint comes into Tony’s view, circling wide enough to be picked up by the camera for a moment. He’s short and well-muscled, closely cropped hair. Tony’s almost certain he isn’t carrying a weapon.

_“I wanted to be revered! The very best to ever walk through headquarter doors! But I was already in the shadow of someone. From the moment I got the job, there was someone else always stepping in my way,”_ he spits.

Tony pulls up the records of other techs or Quartermasters who started the same time Marty did. Modin, Fedotenko, Clymer, Sarich, Richards. _Richie_.

“Ask him about Richie.”

_“Everyone has to earn their way up the ladder,” _the agent says. _“Even Richie.”_

The Saint rushes 007, knocking his feet out from under him. His gun clatters to the side and the Saint gets both of his arms pinned after a swift punch to the ribs and sternum. _“Richie never earned a single thing he was given!”_

007 has the audacity to laugh. _“Jealousy is such an ugly monster, isn’t it?”_

_“I deserved what he had!”_

The agent takes that moment to bash his forehead into The Saint’s nose. It gives him the upper hand for mere seconds but it’s enough to get the bastard’s arm twisted up behind his back, face mashed into the dirty floorboards. Tony thinks 007’s gun is still out of his reach. Not ideal.

_“I’ve heard just about enough out of you,_” the agent says. _“Be a good lad and I’ll take you back to MI6 with some dignity still intact.”_

Matt rushes to Tony’s side, shoves a piece of paper in front of his face. “A message from the second soldier, the one who’s injured.”

Tony’s heart plummets into the depths of his gut. “How did we miss this? Someone tell me how the _fuck_ we missed this!” He turns back to his agent. “007, this is a direct order. Get the hell out of there.”

_“I’ve got him, Q.”_

“I said abort mission, agent. Immediately.” He mutes his microphone. “Where’s the detonator? Who is working on this?”

The hotel is a mess with work, fingers flying on keyboards. The Montreal techs are good but they need to be better. They should have known about the bomb before 007 even set foot in the warehouse. _Tony_ should have known about the bomb before…

The camera Tony had been watching from cuts off.

No.

No, no, no. He tries to switch views to one of the outdoor cameras but none of them are working. He hacks a satellite.

No.

The warehouse is in flames. Smoke and dust cloud the view from above. He can’t see anything but destruction. The bomb must have been centralized, buried under the floor with wires embedded into the wooden posts and wall slats. Perfectly hidden.

MI6 grade.

Tony can’t breathe. He feels his body trying to gasp for air but he can’t. He can’t do anything but watch the smoke and ash cycle on the screen in front of him. No other movement.

“We’re sending in a recovery team now, they should be in the area in ten minutes,” someone says.

Ten minutes is too long. If 007 is still inside, if he’s clinging to life, ten minutes is far too long.

“Q, did you hear me?”

“Yes, I heard you! It doesn’t matter!” He doesn’t mean to shout but he’s suddenly so _angry_.

He can’t stay in the hotel room, not one more second. He pulls his earpiece out and rushes for the door. Finally takes a deep breath into his lungs once he’s out in the hall. He doubles over, holding himself up on the hideous floral wallpaper.

He can’t look to his right, to the place where 007 pressed his forehead against his own before rushing down the stairs. He can’t look at the last plac--.

“Q,” Matt says. “You’re going to want to see this.”

Tony closes his eyes. “I don’t give a shit.”

“He’s asking for you.”

Tony loathes the little flutter of hope in his chest. “Who?”

“007, sir.”

The world moves in slow motion as Tony rushes back to his desk, back to his earpiece. “Mikhail,” he says, zeroing in on the person standing in front of the burning warehouse.

“Were you worried about me, Wesley?” The agent’s suit is covered in cement dust and quite a bit of blood but it’s him. On his feet. Alive.

“Not at all,” he rushes out in one great gust of relief. “I knew you wouldn’t die on me.”

“Good,” he says and Tony can nearly hear the smirk in his tone. “I’d like to request a lift out of here, if you please.”

“A recovery team is on their way to your location. Four minutes out. Sit tight, 007. We’re coming for you.”

**THIRTEEN**

Tony takes his time unloading the bags of equipment and weapons back at headquarters. He meticulously places the usable pieces back where they belong and tosses the ones needing repair into the bag to return to his office. He’s stalling. He knows he is.

“Waiting for me?”

Tony startles, nearly dropping the grenade he’s holding. “_Jesus_, 007.”

There’s a bandage sticking out of the agent’s loose collar, freshly cleaned cuts along his cheekbones and forehead, bruises blooming along his jaw. Tony knows there’s more: knuckles and ribs and scrapes all down his back.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” He steps into the vault, a gloating smile on his stupid face.

Tony huffs. “Not everything I do revolves around you.”

“You are quite a terrible liar.”

Tony can feel himself getting flustered, tries to brush his curls out of his face as he feels it pink up. “I’m a perfectly capable liar.”

007 has the audacity to look at Tony through his eyelashes. Like he’s coy or innocent.

“Don’t give me that face. I’m not a mark you’re trying to bed.”

“You’re not?”

Tony is loath to admit the thrill that runs down his spine at the words.

“Let me buy you a drink. For our mission success,” he insists. “I know a place with a dark corner.”

“I’m busy.” He sets the grenade on the shelf. “Lots of things to clean up.”

The agent crowds Tony from behind, the heat of him spread all along his back. “You’re the boss of the entire Q-branch of MI6. Let one of the techs clean up our mess.”

The hairs along Tony’s arms stand up as the agent’s breath hits the back of his neck. “Do you really think it’s a good idea?”

“I think it’s the best idea I’ve ever had.”

Tony follows 007 into the lounge and immediately feels underdressed in his navy sweater and wrinkled dress pants. It’s all very high class with a large circular bar in the middle of the room, backlit in blue and cool white. Rich leather booths line the walls and glass tables reflect the dim overhead lights.

“Are they going to kick me out of here for not wearing a tie?”

The agent leans down to get his mouth by Tony’s ear. “Not while you’re on my arm. Go pick a table, I’ll bring you a drink.”

Tony bristles at being told what to do. “None of that _shaken not stirred_ business you like.”

007 just waves him away, like he has any idea what Tony likes to drink besides tea.

He picks one of the booths tucked away in the corner, nervous of being seen in such a compromising position with an agent. _His_ agent.

What is he even doing her—

The agent sets down a pint of ale before sliding into the booth with his martini. He settles close to Tony but leaves enough room to breathe.

Tony takes a long sip of his beer.

“Do you remember the day we met?” the agent asks. He bites an olive from the tiny sword in his drink.

“How could I forget such a horrible first impression.”

“Why did you hate me so much?”

Tony scoffs. “I didn’t _hate_ you. I simply underestimated you.”

He cocks his head, appraises Tony with a sharp gaze. “That makes two of us, it seems.”

Tony takes another drink and steels himself. “I know what you were implying back there, in the vault.” He holds the agent’s gaze, pushes his glasses firmly up his nose. “And that might be appealing to some people. But I’m not…that’s not exactly, um, what I’m looking for. Here. In this particular situation.”

He twirls the stem of his martini glass. “Oh?”

“I’m not interested in being another notch on your bedpost.”

“What are you interested in, Barnaby?”

Tony huffs. “God help me, I’m interested in _you_. Just you, 007.”

“For how long?” His lips curl in a devilish smile.

“You don’t get to mock me for this. You…you brought this on with your, your _everything_! You’re always _on_, flaunting yourself in front of me. I’ve seen you walk by a mirror enough times, don’t play dumb.”

“Are you finished?”

“No!”

“Carry on, then.”

Tony takes a drink before continuing, half the pint already gone. “You’re always posturing, puffing out your chest so we know you’re an agent. So we can’t possibly forget that you’re precise and emotionless and _cold_. But I’ve seen you with your guard down, I’ve listened when you talk to me. When you know I’m the only one listening. You’re covering up the humanity you keep so tight to your chest like it isn’t the best part of you.”

“Humanity is a death wish.”

“I know you don’t believe that.”

007 finishes his martini. “There’s no use in thinking about love,” he starts. “You know this, you went through the training. Love grows mistakes, grows hurt and pain and loss. It’s no good to us in this line of work. But then they gave me you, and I’ve been treading water ever since, trying not to get pulled under by your very essence. I can’t stop thinking about you, Q.”

Tony moves to cut him off but the agent pushes on.

“If I took you to bed, if I got you under my hands, got my mouth on you, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from doing it again. And again and again and again. I would never get enough of you.”

His words steal the breath from Tony’s lungs. “Don’t,” he whispers sharply. “Don’t say things that I know you don’t mean.”

The agent slides into Tony’s space, reaches up to take Tony’s jaw in his hand. It’s electric. “When have I ever said anything to you that I don’t mean?”

It’s a rhetorical question but Tony wracks his brain, he thinks and he thinks and he feels his agent’s thumb brush along his skin. He leans in until they’re bare inches apart. “This isn’t proper.”

“Don’t start caring about _proper_ now.”

Tony feels his agent’s breath on his lips, wants so desperately to know what he tastes like. “My flat is closer than yours.”

“I’ll drive.”

**FOURTEEN**

Tony tries to keep his focus once he gets into the passenger seat of the Aston Martin the agent should have already returned, but it’s impossible.

He feels his agent’s eyes on him every chance he gets. Every traffic light and stop sign, his gaze falls to Tony’s mouth, his chest, his hips. He feels like he’s on fire.

He realizes, belatedly, that he’s not directing the agent. That he just _knows_ where Tony’s flat is, which would be concerning if he had any fucking brain capacity left to worry about those types of things.

As it stands, every time the agent downshifts this sexy fucking car, Tony gets a little more worked up. He has such lovely hands. Wants them twisted in his hair, gripped tight around his wrists, his waist, his cock…

Oh, god.

He considers how embarrassing it would be to tell 007 just to pull off to the side of the road and get on with it when the car purrs to a stop.

“Care to show me up?” the agent asks.

It’s not a race but Tony’s never taken the stairs quite so quickly.

Once inside, he gets Tony boxed in against the door, body pressed fully against him. They clutch and grab at each other, Tony tugging at 007’s lapels as the agent drags his nose along Tony’s jaw, breath hot against his skin.

“Any demands?” he asks. “Before I start something I can’t stop?”

“You were right,” Tony says. “When we were in the hotel room and you were…when you stitched me up. The name you chose. You were right, and I didn’t tell you.”

The agent takes Tony’s chin in hand, tilts his gaze up. “Of course you told me. The moment the name left my lips, I knew. Anthony.”

His eyes flutter shut at the way the agent makes his name a purr. “Call me Tony.”

He takes Tony’s ear between his teeth, drags the very tip of his tongue down his neck. “Can I kiss you, Tony?”

“God, yes. Please.”

He surges down to take Tony’s mouth in a searing kiss, open-mouthed and desperate almost immediately.

The agent is all consuming and Tony has to gasp for breath between kisses. “Doub--, Serga--.”

“You know my name,” he says against Tony’s cheekbone.

“Mikhail.”

“Misha.”

Tony gets lost in the darkness of his eyes, swallowed up by desire. “Please, Misha,” he whispers.

Misha licks his lips. “Please, what?”

He’s not a prude. He’s had sex and watched porn and tried a few things that would be considered outside of the box. But saying what he wants, out loud, to Misha. His _agent_. It feels filthy and sends a shiver straight down his spine.

He leans up to whisper directly against his ear. “Take me apart.”

“With pleasure.”

Tony bounces when Misha tosses him on his bed, still unmade from before their trip to Harlaxton Manor. He watches his agent slip out of his jacket and belt, start working on the buttons of his shirt.

“Let me,” he says, reaching for Misha. “Let me help.”

He straddles Tony’s hips and lets him fiddle with the tiny, hateful little buttons, slowly exposing bits of cuts and bruises. Tony curls up to press a kiss to one along his ribs as he slips the shirt from his shoulders.

Misha insists Tony does away with the cardigan and the shirt underneath. The contrast of their skin is shocking and Tony shivers when Misha maps out the smooth curves of his chest with his fingers.

“Can I mark you up?”

Tony doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Here?” he asks, thumbing just below a nipple. “Where no one but you could see.”

“Please.”

Misha works his way there, over the bend of Tony’s neck and shoulder. His skin pinks up easily from the attention and Tony gasps when Misha’s mouth fits around his nipple. He moves lower, latches on. And Tony’s back curves, his body reaching for Misha’s. He wants to be covered, pressed down into the mattress.

Misha takes his mouth again, once he’s satisfied with the mark, and Tony starts to work on the button of his trousers.

“Impatient,” Misha says with a smile.

“Very.”

“I can take off my own clothes.”

“What’s the fun in that?” Tony gets his hands down the back of Misha’s pants, squeezes.

“Efficiency, for one.”

Tony shuts Misha up with another kiss, biting and licking his way into his mouth until they’re both groaning and shifting their hips together. Tony gets a leg around Misha’s waist, but he resists.

“Clothes. All of them, off.”

Tony obeys and, once bare, takes his glasses off and folds them up on the nightstand.

“Can you see without those things?”

“I’m not blind,” Tony huffs, flopping back against the pillows.

Misha makes room for himself between Tony’s thighs. He scoots Tony down the bed, almost hitching him into his lap. In this position, Tony can feel how thick he is, how hot and hard.

He rolls his hips just to see Misha suck his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Stop that,” Misha says, clearly overwhelmed.

“Shan’t.”

He does it again and this time, Misha fits his hands to Tony’s waist and presses him firmly to the mattress. “I’ll tie you up,” he groans.

Tony thinks that sounds like a _marvelous_ idea. “Next time.”

Misha rips open the top drawer of the nightstand and flings all the contents around until he finds the half-empty bottle of lube stashed there.

Tony throws his head back as the first slick finger slips into him. He tries to rock down on it, but Misha stills his hand each time. “Mean.”

“You asked me to take you apart.” He gives Tony another finger, crooks them just right. “So let me.”

Tony’s certain he sees stars.

He gasps and moans through all three dexterous fingers Misha gives him. He’s a mess in the best way when Misha finally tells him to turn over. He props himself up on his elbows and knees, arches his back just so.

Misha doesn’t make him wait long, fits himself to where Tony’s open and fills him up. They both gasp when he bottoms out.

His hips start so slowly, testing the way they fit together, what sounds he can pull out of Tony.

It nearly drives him mad. “C’mon. Like you mean it, darling.”

Misha thrusts deep, leans down over Tony’s back to cover him fully. “As you’d like.”

He takes Tony with him as he sits back on his haunches, both arms wrapping around Tony’s chest and hips to keep him close. To keep him _filled_.

Tony’s head drops back onto Misha’s shoulder as he rocks up into him and hits dead center. Again. And again and again. Until Tony’s shivering each time they rock together, desperate.

Misha gets a hand around Tony which shocks a blissful groan from him. He reaches back and clings to Misha’s nape, breathes wetly against his neck as he falls apart in his arms.

It’s heavenly when Misha doesn’t stop moving, nothing more than a gentle hitch of his hips until he stiffens and finishes, squeezing Tony tight against him, one hand twisted up in his hair and his lips gasping against his jaw.

They stay like that, sweaty and sated and breathing heavily, until Misha finally lays Tony down. He slips free to go clean up and doesn’t let Tony fall asleep until he does the same.

“Stay,” he says, burrowing into the pillows.

Misha waits until Tony’s settled before tucking the sheet up to their chests. “I’m not going anywhere.”

**FIFTEEN**

_A fortnight later..._

Misha wakes up tangled in a sheet, a heavy weight on his stomach. He tries desperately not to give his bed partner any indication he’s awake as he takes in his form.

Tony’s curled up on his side, perpendicular to the pillows. Which is why, apparently, he’s using Misha’s stomach as one.

Which is perfectly fine, he might add.

Tony’s hair is as messy as ever, his mouth hanging open just enough that Misha can feel every breath he exhales brush against his skin. He can see all of Tony’s long, pale neck. Can see the bruise he made last night sitting perilously close to his collarbone.

“I can feel you looking at me.”

Misha sighs and gives up being still. “You were sleeping three seconds ago.”

Tony whines as Misha jostles around. “Yeah, and then you were looking at me.”

“I like looking at you.”

Tony sits up and slips his glasses on. “Like looking at the mess you’ve made. Don’t think I missed the little mark you left.” He presses down exactly where the dark bite is.

Misha has to swallow around his desire when Tony stands, the covers falling away to reveal all of his creamy, white skin. “I could make another.”

“We’ll be late.”

He huffs but agrees, following Tony into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

They show up to headquarters together, Tony leading the way through security.

“Welcome back, 007,” Moneypenny says. “M would like to see you.”

“Have you been perched there all morning?” he asks, slipping his gun back into its holster.

“You love to keep me waiting.”

“Lead the way.”

The lift is ready for them and Moneypenny presses the button for the top floor. “I see my little hotel room prank paid off.”

Misha scoffs. “Don’t think so highly of yourself.”

The lift doors open and Misha launches himself into M’s office. He smiles at the tiny startle response he gets.

“Good morning, 007.”

“It is a good morning, isn’t it.”

“Sit.”

“I’d rather stand.”

M’s lips thin, almost disappearing. “You have a physical and psychological consult this morning. If you pass both, you’ll be reinstated.”

“Unnecessary.”

“It’s protocol, Sergachev. You’ll do as I say.”

“I’m in perfect physical and mental condition.”

“And a very adept liar. You’ll do the tests or remain on the sideline. That’s final.”

Misha knows his back still hurts in a few places and his right shoulder doesn’t have full range of motion just yet, but he’s sure he can fake it. No agent is ever running at one hundred percent. “As you wish.”

Misha has every intention of going to the Medical wing. If he has to get poked and prodded in order to get back to doing his job, so be it. However, the Medical wing sits directly above Q-branch and it would be a pity if he didn’t just...pop down for a quick chat.

He sees Tony immediately, standing in front of the large screen hanging in his office. He’s watching a recording, probably a mission. Probably looking for something everyone else missed.

He knocks on the doorframe before stepping inside.

“I’m busy,” Tony says, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“Too busy for me?”

Tony pauses the video. “Since when do you knock?”

Misha wraps his arms around Tony’s waist and pulls him close. “You looked deep in thought. I didn’t want to startle you.”

Tony allows a kiss, just a quick little thing, before he untangles himself from Misha’s grasp to sit at his desk. “Are you here for a new gadget?”

Misha leans on the edge of his desk. “Would you give me one if I said yes?”

“Just as soon as you show me your physical and psych papers.”

He huffs. “You’re just as bad as M.”

Tony shoots him a deadly look. “Take that back.”

Misha leans over to kiss him instead, this one quite a bit longer and more satisfying. Tony’s already had a cuppa, the bitter taste of tea lingering on his tongue.

Something beeps, then, and Tony pulls away. The big screen has gone bright blue and Tony’s computer screen is a fuzzy grey. Q-branch falls into chaos.

“What’s going on?” Tony shouts from his office.

Slater’s the first one there, tablet in hand. “It’s a breach.”

“A _what_.”

“Someone’s inside the firewall. They’re in our mainframes.”

“That’s not possible,” Tony says.

“What are they doing?” Misha asks.

Tony’s face hardens. “Whatever the hell the want. Meltdown Protocol 1,” he announces.

“Are you sure, Q?” Slater asks.

“Did I sound unsure?”

Slater nods before turning back to the floor and shouting orders. The techs and Quartermasters jump to action. Tony’s already started ripping cords and wires from his own computer.

“Q!” a single voice pierces the chaos. Misha doesn’t recognize the man with his ear-length hair and stubbled chin. “You should come have a look at this.”

Tony rushes to him and Misha is quick to follow. “What do you have, Richie?”

“I think I know who got in.”

His computer screen isn’t grey or blue. It looks perfectly usable even with all the wires he’s ripped out already.

There’s a single pop-up, front and center.

_Did you think it would be that easy to get rid of me?_

“Bloody hell,” Tony says.

The Saint is alive.


End file.
